


Brine Soaked Hearts

by BedazzleButt



Category: Borderlands
Genre: #ActualGarbageWriting, (As termed by the sinner this is for), Also violence in the second chapter???, Bad work title is bad, For my favourite sinner, Historical AU I guess, M/M, Pirate AU, Reluctant castaway romance, There might be smut at some point, This is my first fanfiction please be gentle, We'll just see what happens, Whatever I'm tagging it as 'graphic depictions of violence' just to be safe, Who knows I certainly fucking don't, anyway, rhack - Freeform, tl;dr Rhys and Jack bang on a deserted island.
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-13
Updated: 2016-02-22
Packaged: 2018-05-20 04:31:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5991769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BedazzleButt/pseuds/BedazzleButt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rhys is an admiral for the Atlas navy, bound by both honour and duty to apprehend the infamous self-proclaimed Pirate King, Handsome Jack. However, rumours of Jack's terrible deeds and mangled face are commonplace in pubs and taverns, and Rhys can't help but become intrigued by the pirate captain's true nature; is he really a cold hearted monster with no remorse? Or is there more than meets the eye?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Rhys Makes A Bad Choice

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PinkieBlues](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=PinkieBlues).



Rhys looked out towards the harbour, as he’d done a thousand times. Salted sea air filled his lungs, and his eyes fluttered closed. Not that he need his eyes open to know what lay before him; sailors buzzing about like mayflies, ship sails of pale ivory billowing outwards into the cool breeze, box upon sack upon box of cargo, being loaded and unloaded from ship holds. Schooners and galleons and sloops all lined up, row on row. He knew that if he looked to the far left of the harbour he’d have seen one ship in particular that made his heart swell with pride – His very own frigate, lovingly named ‘LB’, the only two letters remaining of the ship’s previous name (Rhys had never been able to find out just what it’d been called before he owned it, so he’d stuck with ‘LB’, nonsensical though it was). 

Overhead, he could hear the cries of a seagull, and the screeches pulled him out of his reverie. Rhys sighed, opened his eyes, and turned away from the harbour he knew and loved. Dusk was drawing near, and Rhys promised that he’d meet Vaughn for a few drinks at the Purple Skag, before he set sail the next morning. 

 

\---

 

The Purple Skag was Rhys and Vaughn’s favourite tavern for a number of reasons. One was that it was always filled with enough people that they could talk without having to worry about being overheard. A second would be that the beer there was never watered down, unlike a lot pubs in the Atlas harbour. But the best reason? They always had a table saved for them, ever since Rhys had cleared out a lot of the pirate scum that used to frequent the pub.  
Currently, Rhys was sat at one such table with his friends. 

“I just can’t believe you’re finally going after him bro!” Vaughn’s words were slightly slurred, but the sentiments were sober enough. Rhys sipped on his beer, not wanting to get pissed the night before he set off. 

“What do you mean? I’ve worked my ass off to get Henderson’s support – and after all that I’ve sacrificed for Atlas” he made a vague gesture to his prosthetic arm “it’s the least they could do to lend me a fleet or two”. 

“It’s just… Handsome Jack’s a pretty tough guy, and you –you’re finally gonna go and catch him! You remember, when we first signed on? And- And you said that no matter what, you were gonna get to the top, and catch people like Handsome Jack?” Vaughn’s face had lit up, and his cheeks were an adorable rosy hue. Rhys couldn’t help but smile back at his number one bro.

“Yeah bro, I remember” Rhys slid his head onto his hand, smiling down at Vaughn.

“Well… You did it bro! You fucking made it!” Vaughn shouted. Hiss small muscle bound arms pumped up into the air, spilling some of the drink that he’d forgotten was still in his hand. Rhys chuckled as beer splashed down on the table in front of him, placing his flesh hand on Vaughn’s shoulder.

“Hey man, I didn’t make it. We did”. The exchanged goofy smiles, as Sasha waltzed over to them, a small smile gracing her features. She plonked another pint down on the table, and told them it was on the house. 

“I mean, it’s not every day that Rhys sets off on suicide missions to capture dangerous pirate kings, huh?” Sasha’s pose was relaxed and confident, but there was a sharp edge to her tone.

He frowned up at the young woman, and sat back in his chair. “C’mon Sash, you know I’ll be fine. Hell, I’ve got two fleets of Atlas’ finest ships at my back, several years of experience under my belt, and some of the best damned sailors this side of planet.” He waved his arms about, gesturing to invisible ships and sailors.

Sasha’s smile turned to a grimace and her arms folded. She looked about herself, and leant forward, her voice now hushed slightly.

“You might have the best sailors this side of planet, but Jack can have them from whichever side he damn well wants. Rhys, you know how powerful Jack is, and if you think you can take him out with one well-planned surprise attack, with just two fleets? If you think that someone hasn’t already ratted you out to him? Then you don’t stand a chance”. She folded in on herself ever so slightly. If Rhys didn’t know her so well, then he would have missed it completely. 

He stood up, and walked over to her. Gently, he pulled Sasha into his arms, resting his chin on her head. It was entirely unnerving to see Sasha s out of sorts; She was one of the toughest people he knew, and if even she was worried…. 

Rhys sighed, and put as much conviction and optimism in his voice as he could.

“I promise you, Sasha, everything’s going to be okay. I’m gonna set sail tomorrow, and when I come back? Handsome Jack’ll be swinging on the edge of a noose”. Beneath him Sasha let out a puff of laughter, pushing him away. A wry smile set into her face.

“God, you can be so weird, you know that?” She walked back towards the bar to tend to other customers. 

Rhys huffed and sat back down in his chair. He picked up his beer, taking a long draught. His talk with Sasha had set off his nerves, and he need to calm down if he wanted to be in the right mind-set to catch Jack. 

It’s not like he didn’t know just how dangerous this mission would be – people had been telling him that ever since he first proposed the idea to his superiors – but he’d always held the conviction that he’d be able to capture Jack, and put an end to his so-called ‘reign’. It had taken a few years, but he’d worked tirelessly to convince Henderson that he’d be capable of capturing Jack, presenting the older man with page upon page of information about the pirate. How many hours had he spent listening into conversations at taverns and pubs, collating information, rumours, and legends about the man? How many nights had he spent trying to thwart Jack’s next move? How often had he been right in his predictions, putting a stop to whatever act of piracy Jack had planned. Surely by this point, Jack would at least be aware that Rhys was after him, but would he know enough to stop Rhys?

He sighed, running a hand through his well-maintained hair. Vaughn would often call Rhys’ preoccupation with catching Jack “creepy”, and “obsessive”, and “just a bit stalkery, dude”, at which point Rhys would tell him to ‘shut the fuck up because what did Vaughn know about catching pirates?!’ (And no, Rhys would not go red with embarrassment). He was just intrigued is all; Jack’s reputation was wrapped up in a lot of mystery, and Rhys wanted to know how much of it was true. 

Rhys turned to Vaughn, wanting to ask him if he thought Rhys would be brutally murdered by Handsome Jack, when he saw that his tiny friend had fallen asleep on the table. He chuckled, and threw his coat over Vaughn’s back. 

Setting himself back in his chair, Rhys took another sip of beer, and resigned himself to cold determination. He would capture Handsome Jack. A bitter laugh escaped his lips.

“Yeah right”.

 

\---

 

The sun was barely rising when LB sailed out of the Harbour. Rhys hadn’t been able to say goodbye to Vaughn (who was still hungover), but left him a quick note saying that he’d gone, and that should he die on his mission, Vaughn would be the sole beneficiary of his sock collection. 

Now, Rhys was stood on deck, the wind tossing his collar carelessly back and forth. Around him, his crew were working nonstop, rushing about from one spot to the next. He smiled; despite what a lot of high ranking naval captains might argue, Rhys had always preferred to be on deck, rather than hidden away in the bridge. Maybe it was because it made him more accessible to his crew, maybe it was because he simply enjoyed being near the open water. He took a deep steadying breath, and found that he didn’t care either way. 

 

\---

 

It was some two weeks later when they finally caught up to Jack. Or rather, when Jack caught up to them. 

What was supposed to happen was that together, the two fleets would rendezvous not far from Atlas Harbour. Together, they would sail to Helios – a famous pirate cove, often frequented by Jack – to try and pin him down, just as he was attempting to leave the island. According to Rhys’ sources, he’d recently suffered a loss of around three ships in a fight with a rival pirate named Vallory, and was holed up on the island, licking his wounds and having more ships built. He was weak, and in no position to stave off the attack of two fleets of warships from the Atlas navy. Rhys would capture Jack alive, bring him back to Atlas Harbour, have him tried for piracy and hung, making an example of him to pirate scum around the world. 

That was what was supposed to happen. What actually happened was thus:

One of the fleets Rhys had asked for joined his frigate during the first week, as expected. They were sailing from relatively far away, and it had taken a while for Atlas to get that many ships together. Still, Rhys couldn’t help but be a little bit concerned that the second fleet, which should have arrived roughly the same time as the first, didn’t show up. When three more days went by, Rhys sent word out to the nearest Atlas base warning them that there was a problem with the second fleet, and another to everyone in his command to be extra vigilant for pirates. 

After another three days and no reply from Atlas, Rhys was considering calling the whole mission off. Everything was just too suspicious for there not to be something afoot. They’d been sailing for long enough that Jack had to know that they were coming for him, so they didn’t even have the element of surprise anymore; if they kept on going, then Jack would slip out from under their fingers or even worse, try and take them on headfirst. But this was what he’d working towards for years now – all of that time and effort couldn’t be for nothing. So he decided to push on, face whatever Jack may have in store for him. Besides, his information had told him that Jack was in no state to be fighting back, so any damage they suffered would be minimal. 

It was a grey day when they saw the island on the horizon. A hazy smear of black between the dark sky and darker ocean, sitting to the northwest of the fleet. Rhys pushed aside his lingering worry, and told his navigator to sail directly towards the island. From where he stood on LB’s aft, he could see the other ships in the fleet begin to prepare for battle, similarly to his own. The wind was whipping about, ramming against the frigates’ sails, and pushing Rhys’ ship ever closer to the island on the horizon. It was fast approaching, at an almost alarming rate – surely they weren’t going that fast?

He rushed into the bridge, and checked the maps. Rhys could feel his stomach drop. The island wasn’t supposed to be to their left. The island was supposed to at least fifty miles further away, and to their right. 

Rhys rushed out of the deck, desperate to warn his crew and fellow captains that it was a trap, they weren’t sailing towards Helios, there were sailing towards-

Jack’s fleet of ships sailed ever closer, none of them making much of an effort to be quick or subtle. Their dark outlines bobbed up and down towards the Atlas fleet, black flags flying high and proud. At the front of it all, Rhys spotted Jack’s ship, Nisha (so named for Jack’s vicious and lethal ex), and let out a shuddering sigh. 

“Fuck”. 

Rhys turned to look at his crew, and they in turn looked back, all of them frozen in fear. For a few moments, there was naught to hear but the crashing of waves, the creaking of the ships, and far off, the ghoulish whoops and laughter of Jack’s men. 

This was what Rhys had been working towards for years now. It wasn’t the sort of battle he’d wanted, being severely outnumbered and probably outgunned, but no matter what Rhys and his men would go down fighting. So, the young man drew in a breath, and started yelling orders. 

Like magic, his crew continued on with their work, loading the canons, arming themselves, making sure that everything was in working order. Rhys smiled to himself. Maybe they could win this after all.


	2. Rhys Gets His Arse Handed To Him

As fate would have it, Rhys didn’t stand a chance. 

Smokey grey clouds dissolved into an onslaught of rain, soaking Rhys with an almost supernatural swiftness. If he didn’t know better he’d have said that Jack himself called up the treacherous weather, just to confuse and terrify Rhys further. However, be the weather an unfortunate mishap, or something slightly more unnatural, it only served to create a grimy wall of murk water that rain was struggling to see through. It seemed that the gods had decided that it wasn’t Atlas they would favour today. 

The wind picked up, tearing barks and orders from his mouth, and Rhys almost cried out in frustration. Things had suddenly taken a turn for the worse, and if he couldn’t get orders to his men, then they wouldn’t live to see another day. Rhys stumbled away from the bridge, having to physically grab sailors and pull them in close just so they could hear him over the wind and rain. 

Still, his men worked to prepare the cannons, despite the sudden damning downpour. Still, Jack’s ship sailed slowly and steadily towards LB, completely and utterly unafraid. Rhys turned, planning on telling the navigator to turn the ship at the last possible minute, because they “would not be intimidated by the very man they’d set out to catch goddammit-“, when Rhys saw the rest of his fleet. 

Or, to be more precise, he saw them sailing away.

“Those… _bastards_ …” Rhys clenched his fists, and in the back of his mind Rhys was thankful that he kept is nails short, because otherwise they’d have bitten deep into his skin by now. His tore off his dark blue hat, and threw it to the floor in disgust. At this point, he knew without a shadow of a doubt, that there was no way they could win this. Jack was never one to leave sailors alive, so they probably wouldn’t even _survive_ this. 

But be damned if Rhys and his men weren’t going to go down fighting. 

The young admiral spared a moment to think back on his friends; Sasha, his first love and always friend, and who would always undercharge him for beer (unless she was angry at him, at which point she’d ask him to pay up every penny he owed her, in full). Fiona, who dedicated her life to finding her fortune, so that she could whisk Sasha away to live a life of luxury on an island that she’d bought. August, who Rhys didn’t actually like, but made Sasha happy, so that made him… okay? Tolerable, definitely. Yvette, one of the most dependable and trustworthy woman Rhys had ever met, and who’d spent countless hours helping him get to where he was (although, the whole “being murdered at the hands of Handsome ‘brutally-tortures-people-for-his-own-sick-enjoyment’ Jack” may have been a bit of an oversight). Vaughn, who’d be heartbroken when he heard what became of Rhys. 

That last one sent sharp pinches of pain to Rhys heart. Vaughn, alone in his small, cold room. Vaughn, dark shadows under his eyes, too scrawny because Rhys wasn’t there to tell him to eat properly, because dammit Vaughn never ate properly if he was left—

Small, angry tears pricked at Rhys’ eyes, burning hot against chilled skin. Vaughn, crying, because Rhys hadn’t come back. Despite the pain roiling around in his chest, a small reflection of the sea surrounding him, Rhys’ mouth curved slightly upwards. Vaughn, crying, but mopping up his tears with Rhys’ sock collection, because he’d know just how much it would piss Rhys off. 

A chuckle rumbled up through Rhys’ body, catching him off-guard. Nisha drew ever closer and with it his certain doom, and yet there Rhys was, laughing to himself like some sort of ninny. The sheer hopelessness of the situation somehow made him laugh harder, and soon Rhys was stood gallantly on LB’s forecastle, loud insane cackles being ripped from his chest and tossed into the wind, exploding like grenades filled with buckshot. Around him, his crew either laughed with him, or desperately crossed themselves, although he couldn’t be sure who it was they were praying for. 

The dark, looming figure of Jack’s ship, surrounded by what seemed to be every pirate ship that wasn’t currently residing on the sea floor, drew close enough now that Rhys could start making out the finer details of the frigate sailing towards his own, despite the rain still pelting down. Nisha’s sails were rich purple, emblazoned with a violet skull and crossbones. The hull was well cared for, showing the ship to obviously be one of Jack’s favourites. At her sides were dozens of cannons, all of them appearing to be primed and ready. At the front of the ship, a beautiful, deadly looking woman held both port and starboard in her strong arms; presumably, that was Nisha. 

The last possible minute arrived, and (somewhat unsurprisingly) LB turned away first. The two ships drew intimately close, about to run perilously parallel to each other. 

A grim determination set into Rhys’ bones, deeper than the chill that clung to his skin, and Rhys ordered – for what might just be the last time – to hold steady. Rhys’ mismatched eyes swept over the ship once more, this time looking for _him_ , the man that would likely kill him, hopefully without any torture first. 

Rhys nearly jumped out of his skin, when he saw a shadowed figure, in the same position as Rhys, right at the front of the ship. He expected maniacal laughter, villainous taunts, and maybe even a few terrible nautical puns. What Rhys didn’t expect was the dead silence between him, and Captain Handsome Jack.  
The young man drew closer the side of the ship, calming his nerves into steely resolve. A scrawny looking cabin boy approached Jack fearfully, elegant gun in one hand, and a lantern in the other. The lantern’s light cast a murky glow across Jack’s face, illuminating the grotesquely realistic mask he wore. Somehow, the light cut through the murky greyness, and Rhys was met with the full force of Jack’s gaze. Life seemed to… not slow down, per se, but if Rhys were ever asked to recall the memory, the only thing he’d be able to talk about was Jack’s eyes, and just how long their gaze seemed to last.

One stormy blue eye, one toxic green, stared at Rhys. They were unjustly calm, considering the pandemonium that was the roaring ocean, the screaming wind, and the jeers of Jack’s crew. And through it all, Rhys tilted his chin back, and matched Jack’s glare with one of his own.

Rhys was so focused on Jack that he barely seemed to register when his opponent raised that elegant gun, which had at some point during their staring competition been slipped into Jack’s hand. The spell was broken however, when a concerned sailor (one that Rhys would remember later on, to be one of the sailors who’d crossed themselves) roughly yanked Rhys out of harm’s way, just as a bullet tore from Jack’s flintlock, aimed straight for Rhys’ shoulder.

Similarly, as soon as Rhys hit the deck a shout tore from his throat. 

“Fire!” 

From his position on the deck, Rhys could make out three things that happened then. One, not all of his men had heard him. Once more, it would seem, the wind had stolen his voice, and only the men closest to him had heard his call. 

Two, Jack’s voice was raising, impossibly loud, and _all_ of _his_ men heard him when he called for his pirate scum to board Rhys’ ship.

Three, and quite possibly worst of all, LB’s cannons didn’t fire.

Rhys felt the cold _slap slap slap_ of rain water hitting his face, and the thought suddenly occurred to him that cannons couldn’t fire when their gunpowder was wet. 

He pulled himself to his feet, back straight and confident, even as Jack’s men threw lines and planks over to LB, and thought bitterly that he was right – Handsome Jack was a fucking warlock who controlled the weather, and had made it rain to stop Rhys’ cannons from firing, which, admittedly, sounded a lot like a euphemism.

The admiral swiftly drew his cutlass – a fine sword, gifted to him by Yvette, that would always catch the light just so, and shine as if the blade were practically made of lightening. Rhys drew himself into a fighting stance, just as the first of the pirate scum began to board. To his utter dismay though, they boarded from both sides of the ship – somehow, Rhys had failed to spot a dark coloured schooner drawing in close to his ship, its crew sneaking aboard LB as quietly as rats. They were just as quiet as they were brutal though, and exploded into action, hacking at anyone wearing a sailors’ uniform.

Guns started firing, and in some cases misfiring, bright flashes of fire ripping through the rain, leaving bangs as loud as thunder in their wake. Rhys ducked to his left, narrowly avoiding the dirty hands of a particularly grubby pirate trying to grab him. He dropped slightly, his right arm swinging low, and caught the filthy pirate right across his thighs. The man dropped, and once again, Rhys had to dodge out of the way of another grabby pirate, this time taking several steps back.  
Rhys’ sword swung, this time opening up the man’s stomach, revealing the almost black looking viscera within. Blood soaked the floor beneath him, but no sooner had Rhys slain his second pirate, than another took his place. 

The smell of gunpowder, blood, and salt clogged Rhys’ lungs, and screams rode the air. Muting it all, however, the rain poured on, and the grip of Rhys’ cutlass bit icily into his hand. The pirate ran forward, advancing on Rhys with some speed. He had a mean looking shotgun strapped to his waist, although he seemed to favour his meaty hands for now, and his face was marred with pock-marks. He was a big man, building up a lot of momentum as he ran. Rhys smirked. 

“You know, you really shouldn’t run on wet floors!” Rhys dodged to the side, and stuck out one of his long, long legs. The pock-marked pirate crashed to the floor, skidding slightly as his heavy frame struck the sodden wood. 

Rhys huffed out a breath in his victory, and was about to take out a rather ragged looking pirate who was bearing down on a wounded member of his crew, when all of a sudden a pair of strong, rain-soaked arms gripped around Rhys’ chest, a chainlike grip that stopped him dead in his tracks. Rhys swung his cold, wet cutlass vaguely behind him, but it was all in vain. 

The pock-marked pirate steadily rose from the floor, showing off a set of crooked, grey teeth behind a pair of cracked lips. He took his time moving towards Rhys and his captor, a hard set to his shoulders and filmy gleam to his eyes. All the while, Rhys struggled uselessly in that unbreakable grip, while the man behind him didn’t speak a word. 

The pirate – seemingly unbothered by the bloodshed behind him – grasped Rhys’ chin, pulling him closer, his eyes roaming up and down Rhys’ face. The young man recoiled, the pirates’ foul smelling breath wafting itself into Rhys’ lungs; he smelt like whiskey, dirt, and tobacco, and if he didn’t move away from Rhys soon, he’d smell like vomit too. 

Time seemed to drag on, as the pirate ran a hand down Rhys’ prosthetic arm. He chuckled a bit.

“This arm’s kinda ugly, for a pretty boy like you”.

He wasn’t looking when Rhys spat in his face.

“Fuck you, you pirate psycho!” Once more, Rhys struggled in vain. He could see now that a crowd of pirates had gathered behind the one covered in pock-marks, and they seemed to be enjoying the show. Rhys didn’t want to know what the finale would be.

Once again, the pirate chuckled, this time wiping Rhys’ spit from his cheek. He rubbed sagely at his scraggly beard, considering Rhys once more.

“Well, pretty boy has a bit of a mouth on him… Jack’ll like that” There was a terrible glint in his eye, and the pirates gathered around him laughed, like there was some sort of inside joke Rhys wasn’t privy to. The crowd had once again grown in size, and as far as Rhys could see, the fight on his ship was almost over. Rhys stood a good head taller than a lot of the pirates before him, and unfortunately he had an excellent view of the carnage that had swept across LB’s deck like a plague. Bodies lay scattered, pirates and sailors alike, all bloody, all wearing masks of grotesque pain. It wasn’t that Rhys had never seen bloodshed before, it’s just that the people who died weren’t his men. This time around though, they were. He’d lead them to their deaths, and that was all on him. His eyes scanned the deck once more. Slumped up against the main mast was the sailor that had saved Rhys when Jack took a shot at him. Rhys choked back a malformed sob. 

He hadn’t even known the man’s name. 

His breath steamed up in the rain, which had begun to calm down and was now falling in steady dribs and drabs, rather than a heated roar. 

The pock-marked man had been talking, but Rhys hadn’t been listening. 

“…so, Sorry, but orders are orders”. He snapped his fingers at the man holding Rhys, who moved his arms slightly to release Rhys’ right arm. Rhys blinked, coming back into the conversation all too late. Faster than he could think, faster than he could even draw in a breath, the pirate had a shotgun level with the shoulder joint on Rhys’ prosthetic arm. 

Rhys heard the blast before he felt the pain. It left a terrible ringing in his ears, and for a few moments he could only blink numbly. The strong man was hauling him away, and Rhys’ thoughts were muddled and confused.

_Why hadn’t they killed him too? Why were his ears ringing? Where were they going?_

_Why couldn’t he feel his arm?_

Why couldn’t he feel his arm?

Where was his arm.

The ringing in his ears subsided, and was replaced with a blunt, unrelenting pain in his shoulder. He looked to his right arm, expecting to see it shredded and riddled with buckshot. Instead he saw it laying several feet away, broken beyond repair. 

He was shoved across a gangplank, connecting Nisha and LB, saw a group of pirates rolling barrels onto his ship, filled with God only knows what. Someone pushed him to the deck, and Rhys was too tired and confused to fight back. He sat slumped in a pile on the floor, legs folded beneath him, dripping wet.  
A panicked sob was about to rip through his body – it was happening again he’d made a mistake and now he’d paid the price his men were dead his arm was gone where was his arm where _was his fucking arm—_

Rhys could hear heavy footsteps walk up behind him. He could see the burning outlines of the ships from his fleet, the ones that had tried to leave, surrounded by Jack’s hoard of schooners and brigs and clippers dancing on the waves in celebration of their victory. The rain had eased up, his arm was gone, and Rhys didn’t understand why he wasn’t dead.

The footsteps stopped, and it took Rhys a moment to realise that everyone on board Nisha was silent. In front of him, he could see a man with a burning an arrow, looking at someone stood over Rhys’ shoulder. The man must have received some sort of signal because it was then that he let the arrow fly, and a large warm hand now rested gently on his shoulder. 

“Game over, kiddo” There was a smile in his voice. Rhys didn’t turn to look at Jack, didn’t want to look into his blue and green eyes, didn’t want the Captain to see the defeat and the confusion in his eyes. 

So instead he looked to the arrow as it hit the barrels that had been loaded onto LB, watched as they exploded, one by one, and taking his ship down with it. LB slipped into the ocean, crying out as its hull cracked and burnt, forever lost to the sea floor alongside the bodies of his dead crew members. Rhys wondered if he should have gone down with it.

Jack laughed, loud and raucous, patted Rhys’ shoulder, and smacked him over the head with what felt like the butt of his gun, hard.

Blackness swept over Rhys in waves of dull, throbbing, ache.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, well, we finally fucking got there folks. Jack and Rhys are off to a flying start - because everyone knows the way to a man's heart is by burning down his ship and killing his men. Good luck with that one, Jack.


End file.
